And in all honeydom there were no folk,
Of swifter wing or sharper sting than these.
The waxen fragments, round the fountain strown,
With more than dædal artifice ywrought,
Once formed the structures of their fragrant town,
Which hung embosomed in this oaken grot.
Its name was Crocusburg. ’Twas built, they say,
By queen Iophile, whose early home
Was in a mountain cleft of Attica.
She with her bees was often wont to roam